


Skin Care for Dummies

by 3_modes_Ace_Kat



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Platonic Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, Skin Hunger, blame Barnes, no beta we die like bertie, non longer so platonic, were not talking about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29328798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3_modes_Ace_Kat/pseuds/3_modes_Ace_Kat
Summary: Wilde  being terrible at asking for physical touch during the 18 month gap, and his team supplying it anyways. But they’re not gonna talk about it
Relationships: Commander James Barnes/Howard Carter (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 45





	1. Wilde

They know each other’s routines well by now. They respect each other’s space. All four of them. When you spend time trapped with someone in a small cell and forced to strip for a week, you tend to develop coping mechanisms.

Oscar knows how much of a violation what they have to do is. He hates it, feels shame and revulsion curl in his belly like snakes. But it has to be done. Someone has to do it. He tries to spare Zolf the association that develops in people’s minds when they are forced to deal with something horrific. And Zolf tries to spare him back. It’s a game of throwing themselves in the way of spell for each other. In the end, they both hurt and no one walks away unscathed.

But it leads to certain things. Oscar knows of the rooms where his team sleeps. He assigned them, people took them. He’s never been in any of them. He knows that Zolf hasn’t either. Barnes and Carter may have seen each other’s rooms, but even that is not guaranteed.They all need a safe space to retreat to, that no one intrudes on.

So Oscar has no shame in the nest he’s made for himself over the months. He trades his own things, coin and songs and skills for what he needs. A thick futon, several blankets, extra pillows. Einstein is a wonderful man and so easy to bribe. Curie tries to give them grief for it, but everyone has been worn down by this war of attrition. A relatively easy to get resource is the least of her concerns, when held in a bag of holding.

So, Oscar has his bed. He is adult enough to admit it’s really a nest at this point. Backed against one of the solid walls of the inn, with several pillows leaning against it. More pillows for him to hug in his sleeps, one to sling his leg over. The most recent addition; a long thin one, surprisingly heavy, that he can put over his waist. Oscar is not adult enough to admit to himself that he misses sleeping with other people. He is not adult enough to admit that the pillows are just a cheap facsimile of another body in bed with him, warmed by his own body heat. He can’t afford to admit it to himself, lest he admit just how much he misses it.

Oscar is not an introvert, unlike Zolf and Barnes. He needs people. There’s a reason he chose an inn as the base, rather than an abandoned home that they could have retro fitted for their purposes. Carter is the same way as him, coming at it from two different directions. They talk about it, sometimes, how being this far away from the civilization they know, in a tiny town with people so wary of everything grates on them. Carter has it easier in some ways, able to travel and see things, while Oscar is stuck here.

In his lower days, Oscar imagines taking Carter up on his well meaning offers. They both know that Carter isn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart, that he enjoys taunting and the idea of bedding Oscar Wilde. But it’s a conversation that they’d had before, where Carter had admitted that he wouldn’t stay the night. He was expected elsewhere and they both know that means by Barnes’ side. Whether to act as watch while the former commander sleeps or something more is rather irrelevant to the matter. Oscar needs someone there to wake up to. Howard can’t give him that. And after everything, Oscar isn’t sure that he’s willing to settle for this stopgap measure.

Surveying his bed, with its two lines of pillows that were just bracketing him and helping him feel less alone and abandoned, Oscar wonders if he may have to anyways. This isn’t enough. He just woke up crying.

“Wilde?” A knock by his door startles him out of his depressive spiral. Zolf’s voice is a welcome balm, gruff and stoic and reliable. “Breakfast time. Don’t make me come in.”

It’s a common threat that no one ever follows through on. The only reason any of them would enter is if there was a serious threat, and even then there would be a knock first.

“Coming, Zolf.” He calls, and if his voice wavers, both of them are polite enough not to mention it.

The dwarf’s eyes are sharp on him during the day, picking apart at the masks of him to find something. Oscar doesn’t know what he gives away, how much or how little, and right now he can’t bring himself to care. 

Barnes and Carter are back and out of quarantine, so they retreat to Oscar’s study, a small bottle of bourbon shared between them. Barnes and Carter share the sofa that all four of them have cobbled together in the past 3 months, pressed against a corner. Carter is sprawled against Barnes’s side, all spread eagles and loose limbed, dagger juggling in his hand alongside his glass.

Oscar looks at them, so easy in each other’s space, Howard’s head resting on James’ bare torso and aches right down to his bones in envy. His bed, his little cocoon of safety feels like burning bile and a mockery in the back of his mind.

They talk, meander through the books they read recently. The point of these evenings is to relax and find some solace. Oscar tries not to vibrate out of his skin. Zolf is a steady presence, forming the third point of their little triangle. The fact that his shirtsleeves are turned up past his elbows and his collar is unbuttoned is a tantalizing distraction but not enough. Oscar tries not to snap, not to start fights he has no energy to continue and no way to finish. But looking around, he hurts. He hurts so much and there is no way to heal that pain. It must come across in some way, despite his best intentions to hide it. The other read the room, or read him well and scatter. At least, Barnes and Carter do. Oscar catches them holding hands as they leave and tears fill his eyes for a second. 

“Wilde?” Zolf’s face is open and soft and for a second, Oscar imagines asking for help. Then he shakes his head. They’ve had a stilted and roundabout conversation regarding preferences at the beginning of this little journey; them and Barnes and Carter. It felt pertinent to have cards in the table, know what to expect from the rest. So Wilde knows that Zolf really doesn’t tend to do things with people. And right now, Oscar has few enough friends that he won’t risk alienating one with such a childish request.

“Just some bad memories, Zolf. I’ll be right as rain in the morning.” Oscar pastes a too bright smile, trying to withstand the scrutiny.

Zolf glances outside, into the gloomy downpour. “That’s not saying much Wilde. You sure you’re okay?”

“Of course. Nothing some good alcohol and a better book can’t fix.”

“Gonna stay here then?”

Oscar contemplates the idea, but staying here, in this warm circle of light with Zolf’s too kind presence, a couch still cooling from shared body heat is more than Oscar can handle right now. He shakes his head.

“I think I’ll turn in. My bed seems like a better location for this sort of thing.”

“If you say so. I’ll walk with you.”

“No need. I’m sure I can find my room myself?”

“We’re going the same way, Wilde. I might as well help you carry something.”

Now Oscar is trapped, forced by his own machinations to think of something to bring with him. They eventually settle on the glass and the book, with Zolf hurrying off to put together a lovely little snack board for Oscar to take with him. The care brings a little ball of warmth to his core, but it’s not enough to eliminate the chilling ache.

They make it to Oscar’s door first, since Zolf’s room is further down the hall. Closer to the main area.

Trying to open the door and juggling all his things, Oscar trips a little and stumbles into Zolf. It feels like stumbling into the softest brick wall he’s ever felt. He’s not sure how it happens, but Zolf’s arm ends up around his waist, and Oscar is half bent over, in an awkward parody of a hug. It’s the most affectionate skin contact he’s had in 8 months and it startles a needy whimper out of him.

“You hurt?” Zolf asks and the sound rumbles pleasingly through them both. Oscar is just about to answer when a hand lands on the nape of his neck, rubbing slightly and he slumps like all his strings have been cut.

“Yes. Yes of course. Let me-“ he tries to stand, but that would mean leaving Zolf’s hug and Oscar is a weak weak man and he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Wilde. Let’s get you into bed and you can tell me what’s wrong. We’re going in your room now.” Zolf says, all normal no nonsense, and Oscar just has no more fight left in him. He nods, let’s Zolf maneuver him around.

“I need to feed you more. You’re skin and bones.” Zolf grumbles, slinging Oscar over his shoulder (the man was basically there anyways), and pushing the door open. The bard is too busy reveling in being carried around so easily to remember the state he left his room in, the configuration of his bedding.

Zolf takes a few steps in, looks around. “Ah.” It’s such a small sound but it carries such a wealth of meaning. Before Oscar can scrabble up into some semblance of dignity, Zolf is already moving forward, snapping his fingers to light the candles. “Get the door, Wilde.”

And Oscar can’t help but obey, snagging it closed even as he’s carried to his bed.

Zolf dumps him in but gently. Stepping back, he surveys the taller man, hands on hips.

“Do you prefer big spoon or little spoon?”

“What?”

There’s a line of pink forming over the bridge of Zolf’s nose but he continues like nothing has happened. “Seen this before. Doctor’s orders. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“My dear Zolf, most people buy me dinner first. And a few things besides.” Oscar says, trying to straighten his clothing and act like this doesn’t play into about half his fantasies at this point in life.

“I’ve made you plenty of dinners and I have no interest of railing you into the mattress tonight. One last time and then I’ll drop it. You need someone to sleep with. Platonically” Zolf says quellingly as Oscar opens his mouth, face filling with mischief. “So. If you don’t want that. Say so. Or tell me which one you want.”

Opening his mouth, Oscar tries to form the words to make this more of a harmless joke that they can forget in the morning. Abruptly, he’s just too tired. Zolf has already seen him without most of his masks and shields. What’s one more?

“Little spoon.” The words are dragged out of him, but feel good to say.

“Alright. Be right back with my sleep stuff. Get yourself ready.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a proposition, Zolf? It certainly feels like one. Drinks, food, romantic mood lighting.”

“Do you want it to be?”

Oscar pauses, flabbergasted. “I thought this wasn’t your preferred means of spending a night?”

“I make exceptions.”

“And am I an exception for you, Mr. Smith?”

“Wilde, you’ve always been exceptional. Don’t go fishing for compliments.”

Oscar can’t stop the little flush of pleasure. He’d been worried he was losing his touch. But. The friendship he had with Zolf was just a little too important to waste on a fling.

“Maybe another time. I’m sure we can find another exception?”

“Good, you’re dead on your feet and you almost cried looking at Barnes and Carter today. I’ll be back in a bit.” And with those words, Zolf stomps out, leaving Oscar flat footed again. He thought he’d been rather discrete. Oh well. There’s only so much crying over spilt milk that he feels like doing tonight, especially with such a lovely promise ahead of him.

Oscar spends some time moving the candles, fixing the snack board that Zolf had made, and fussing with the pillows so they are perfect. He has no idea if Zolf would want to sleep near the door or against the wall, but wants to keep their options open.

Presently, Zolf troops back in, holding a pillow of his own, some crutches, and a knife.

“I know you’ve got plenty, but I like mine.” Zolf says before Oscar can make a quip. “I plan on sleeping between you and the door. Any arguments?”

“I can be made amendable to that.”

“Good.” Zolf jerks his chin up, urging Wilde to lay down.

It takes some maneuvering, as Oscar is still a little confused as to what’s going on, not that he would ever voice those thoughts. Zolf waits for him to settle, taking his legs off in the process. Like this, Oscar is abruptly struck just how much taller he is than the dwarf. Maybe he should have said “big spoon”?

“Don’t go overthinking things now.” Zolf’s voice is implacable in the half light. “Lay down. You, more than most, need enough sleep. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Oscar considers protesting again. He wants to make this a bit more of a game, likes playing hard to get. But also, he wants this, the promise of waking up with someone is too great a siren call. He settles down, presenting his back. Zolf huffs a laugh, burying his fingers in Oscar’s hair and rubbing at the nape of his neck. Abruptly, Oscar realizes that his skin tingles, nerves running up and sparking to the tips of his fingers. 

”Did you cast a healing spell?”

”No. Something happen?” The hand pulls at his hair a little and the tingling increases. It feels so amazing that Oscar can feel himself melting into the bedding.

”Just making sure. You know the cuffs mean that doesn’t work on me.”

”I know. Should have figured you’d be a talker in bed.” Zolf says, sliding down to settle against Oscar’s back. All told, the ends of Zolf’s legs stop right around Oscar’s bum. It should feel like too little, but Zolf is broad and heavy and so very solid.

”Of course when am I ever no-“ his comeback is cut short as Zolf’s hand slides under the sleeping robe and his hand, so very large, splays across Oscar’s belly. He’s held. Suddenly, it clicks that Oscar is being held. Warmth that could never be replicated in pillows soaking up body heat radiates from the dwarf. The weight of his arm is so much more than Oscar remembers, heavy and grounding. The tingles are spreading from his belly now, up his chest and down his legs. They feel so good, the reminder that he is a creature of skin and nerves, hunger finally fed. 

“Oh.”

”Feel good?” Zolf’s voice rumbles through Oscar and he’s on the verge of tears again, skin on skin contact soothing something he couldn’t even name. 

“How did you know what was wrong?” Oscar’s deflects instead, wriggling slightly to find a more comfortable position. Zolf’s arm reaches up and around their heads and Oscar feels cradled and cherished. 

“Happens sometimes. You see it in the Navy but pirates are better about it. Isolation does bad things to people. We’d regularly have plays put on on the ship I served on, and it required communal enjoyment. Tended to end up sprawled all over each other. Was cute.” The words are quiet, but Zolf is mumbling them into the nape of Oscar’s neck and oh he’s missed this.

Oscar’s words slur as he asks “What kind of plays?”. The rhythm of Zolf’s hand slowly petting him, pressing care and comfort into his bones is such a pleasant distraction. 

“Of course you’d ask about the plays. Nothing as sophisticated as you’re used to but.” Oscar lets the soft brush of lips on the back of his neck lull him into sleep. He dreams of the plays Zolf talked about, tucked in his arms.


	2. Barnes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inherent emotional vulnerability of sharing a bed

It starts with the Cult of Hades, as these things tend to do.

Wilde had sent Barnes and Carter off to ferret out some information on supply lines and their involvement with the blue veins in Russia, and it had only led to the two of them being captured. 

So now here was Barnes, trapped in a cold room with a blanket, a hole in the wall that led to Carter, and silence. It was arguably the silence that was slowly driving him mad, even more so than the cold. Barnes had sailed in some pretty nasty places and could handle it. He knew how to wrap the blanket around himself, scrunch into a corner and hold himself still and tight to preserve body heat. Food would appear in intervals that felt regular enough for him to sit at the comfortable edge of starvation. 

But, there was a tiny hole in the wall, just enough to stick a hand through. Carter had wasted no time in finding it, shamelessly sticking as much of his arm as he could through and waving. It was one of the few spots of color in an otherwise blank white room so it had caught Barnes' eye automatically. But they couldn't touch. Each of them would be taken out from time to time for interrogation, a silent and distant affair that involved magical muteness, words written on paper, and no physical interaction. James wasn't exactly sure what they were trying to accomplish, making asking them questions so difficult and ignoring them so easy. But that had stopped 3 days in and then he had been left locked in here.

Carter's hand would disappear for hours from time to time, inconsistent with a sleep schedule, so James could only assume that the thief was being taken out for further questioning. Which led to a very real threat of infection. 

So James would sit in the corner near the hole, watching Carter's hand scrabble around every time he came back, clearly looking for James. At first, James had held that hand in return, seeking comfort (though he'd never admit it) from the warmth and the life he could feel. But as the days progressed, he held it less and less, more worried about the possibility of blue veins and infection. That didn't stop Howard from reaching, from doing his best to even brush a finger against James' pants, to feel something.

They could only sort of communicate. 

Obviously, the two of them had created something of a silent shorthand, cobbled together with the sign language that Howard had picked in various countries over the years, common sense, and the things James had learned from his time on a ship. So they had several different words for danger, depending on the flavor and absolutely none to indicate boredom or a time span of more than a few minutes. 

Which in turn led to this, James sitting and watching one of Howard's hands gradually grow sluggish and pale, clearly trying to communicate some kind of interesting story. 

The lights in the room never went out. It wasn't long before a sense of unreality filled James, looking at that tanned hand sweep and weave through the air. It was almost like watching a flesh colored spider dancing around, since Howard's shirt was almost the exact same white as the paint of the room. James wanted to hold that hand. He wanted to feel a connection to another person, slowly losing himself, his edges fading into the white of the room until he didn't know where they ended and he began. Looking back, James would wonder if the Cult had been pumping something into the room, as he was not a man prone to such flights of fancy. It's why Wilde had paired them together, since James was a natural counterpoint to Howard's more ridiculous tendencies.

They got out eventually. Of course they did. Both of them far too stubborn to let something as simple as a barren room and silent jailors hold them back for long. It was a small break in protocol; one of the clearly new recruits reaching out to touch James to move him. It gave James the leverage he needed to break the poor kid's face and tear through the rest of them. A change of leadership had left them more unorganized. As it had turned out, something similar had happened to Carter in the other room. They'd ended up meeting in a corridor later, staring at each other in shock, as each had been fully prepared to rescue the other. 

Howard opened his mouth and then seemed to stop himself. Instead he made the hand signs for 'sneak' and 'escape'. James nodded. It was a hasty plan, but when they got further out, it seemed like the place was mostly deserted. So they picked up their clothes, their gear, failed to find any further intelligence to take back to Wilde and Curie, and has ran hell for leather as far as they could from that lonely, silent building.

Carter's voice broke the shroud surrounding them eventually. It nearly startled James out of his skin. "You gonna keep that? I'm just saying, don't think it'll be worth much and Wilde won't be impressed. Don't think it's got any information we could sell." James glanced down, following Carter's gesturing hands. James didn't even realize he still had the blanket from his cell wrapped around him.

"It's cold."

"Well, I mean yes. It's Russia. In early winter. Come on, I see some signs." They trudged in silence, the crunch of snow and ice a loud counterpoint. James shivered. The clothes they had brought were decently warm, but the coats had been stolen and James could feel hunger gnawing on his stomach. He unconsciously drifted closer to Carter, seeking warmth and contact. 

"Ah!! I know exactly where we are! Which is lucky and also deeply suspicious."

"Where?" 

"Novaya Ladoga. It's an old church. To be fair, most churches in Russia are old. And crumbling. And hard to sneak into. But! The important thing. They have houses here. I made a hidey hole while you were out getting supplies, so we have a nice little place to hole up in and wait for Einstein. It might take him a bit. He told me that teleportation isn't precise when he doesn't know the area really well."

"How long?"

Carter squinted at the sky, full of energy now that he had a task. James pressed his left arm closer to his side. He'd wrenched it during the fight and it was slowly throbbing. The cold helped ease some of it. His face itched with fresh beard growth. Carter's mustache was getting a little long, out of the nice shape he usually tried to style it in. Once, Carter had admitted that a nice gentleman had told him it made him look dashing. There was a blood stain above his eyebrow. 

"-rnes? Barnes? We're here." Carter's voice sounded a little far away, as if he were speaking from the next room. James finally glanced up. They were standing in front of a rather roughshod wooden building. It looked like a cabin that had been hand built and left to rot. 

"All right, in we get."

James raised a hand and made the signs for 'yours' '?'

"Oh no, of course not. But I met this chap while a dig out in Riga oh four years ago? Told me about how he had a place out by Novaya Ladoga, so he could ah 'enjoy' the hospitality of the local priesthood. Apparently, they make amazing bread and something like a local beer? Anyways. I happened to make a copy of his house key before we parted ways. Amicably. At least I think it was amicably. Could have been not. Depends. Doesn't matter. He's not going to be here. Far too cold right now. He mentioned it was more of a summer retreat." Carter had the door open in seconds, using an actual key for once. He fluttered around the room, pulling out wood, checking the amount of blankets on top of the stove that dominated half the interior. James' hands itched to help. He stepped forward, snagging some of the firewood and hip checking Carter out of the way. When Carter glanced at him, James invented a new sign 'fire', which looked like a wavering candle flame. The place where they had touched burned. 

Carter grinned. "Right you are. I'll go see if there's any honey or something stashed somewhere. There's still oatmeal in our packs, so I can make that work. And some jerky." There was a rattling of pans and cupboards and he suddenly popped back up holding a bunch of dried herbs and an old onion. "And there's enough here to make soup! We'll fill out bellies soon enough. Are you all right? You've been favoring your arm." Carter added at James' constipated look of confusion. 

"Strained it."

"Yeah, all right. I'll just get the soup started. And the oatmeal. I even made sure we had raisins when I packed this time. And some potatoes. That'll go good in the stew." James couldn't help but be struck with the idea of a fox, tailing waving frantically as it dug into a burrow looking for a mouse as he watched Carter scamper around. He managed to find another few pillows, which he promptly tossed on the stove, as well as a spare blanket and a shaving kit. 

"Where are we sleeping?" James finally asked when he'd built up the fire enough, snugging logs around most of the central area in the stove, space clearly made for a long burning. Which would make sense as it needed to be able to heat a building overnight.

"On top of that. It's the warmest place in the entire building. Here, you look tired. Get on up there. I'll be done right quick with the food and join you." It wasn't the first time they had shared sleeping space, but it felt different this time. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't touched anyone with kindness in months and been alone with only his thoughts and one of Howard's waving hands for company. 

"Yeah. Alright." James said, climbing up onto the stove gingerly, shucking his boots as he went. He could already feel it warm just the tiniest bit. There was a down mattress like pad and about 5 different blankets, mostly wool. Several pillows. James spent some time making a nice cocoon for them; putting pillows along the wall to trap heat and provide some comfort, arranging the blankets just so, making sure they tucked in under everything. 

"Here." A pair of wool socks that had clearly seen better days were suddenly thrust under James' nose from where he had carefully settled himself down, spread eagled to heat as much of the bedding as quickly as he could. "They're not the best but it'll help keep your feet warm. I know you hate that." Howard had managed to find a pair of fingerless gloves and was already slowly pushing two pots of food into the center part of the oven that James had left empty for such a purpose. "Stew should be ready in about an hour or two. We should at least nap or cuddle or something. Too bloody cold. Don't understand why anyone would choose to live in such a bloody cold country."

James considered sitting up and putting the socks on but gave it up as a bad job. Instead, he tucked the blanket over his head, until just one eye and part of his forehead was peaking out. 

Howard laughed at him a little. "Budge up, there's a mate." With a grumble, James scooched until his back was to the wall, on his side so that his arm was not in danger of further strain. Howard signed as he settled into the body warmed space that James had left, folding the blankets over them so they could be protected from the cold. In exchange, James slung his injured arm around Carter, pulling the lanky man closer. James couldn't get warm. There were blankets on top of him, his lovely sneak thief trying to help, and yet James could feel the outsides of his thighs, his arms, his forehead as if it were half a step away, freezing and unreal. Howard shoved his hands between them, tucking them under James' shirt, and all at once, that point of contact burned.

All at once, the commander remembered that he hadn't touched a person without violence in months, hadn't gotten laid in even longer. The isolation had only sharpened that inherent knowledge. He didn't even realize that he'd made a soft keening noise, burrowing into Howard's neck until the other man was grabbing him, dragging his face out of the warm shoulder it had found. 

"Barnes. James! What's wrong? Are you hurt more? Did you get infected? Is this your way of telling me that you're infected and that I have to shove you out into the cold? Don't make me do that James. I can't shove you anywhere and I don't think i could lock you out. I mean, I'll try but please don't make me do -" James cut Howard's babble off with a kiss.

"No. I'm not hurt more than I expected. I just.. I hadn't realized how long it's been. Since I touched someone. I'd.. forgotten how good it could be. Cold, too."

"I mean, I know I'm a hot commodity, but get out of bed. I'm checking you for veins." Despite how much he didn't want to. James could understand the caution. He grumbled and his teeth chattered, but he climbed over Carter and down onto the freezing floorboards. Stripping took monumental mental effort, but he did it, spinning as quickly as was reasonable. 

"Alright. All clear. My turn, fair's fair." James managed to get his clothes back on again, but the thought of climbing back up seemed daunting. Instead he watched Howard strip in the firelight, doing his own twirl for safety. It took James a moment to focus, and he made Carter turn a few times, but the other man was also clear. 

"You know, if you just wanted to watch me, you could have asked." Howard grumbled, tugging his own clothes back on, and then kneeling to help James put the wool socks on as well. James reached out and patted the fluffy hair before him. 

"Sorry. I do. I would." Howard glanced up and it struck James just how molten brown his eyes really were, sparkling with good humor. 

"Would like to?" It seemed like tease, but James could read the hesitancy beneath the mocking. 

"Watch you. Kiss you. Other .. things." 

"You're only saying that because you want me as a hot water bottle."

"No. It helps, but no. I'd wanted you before. It just seemed like a bad time. I missed you this last week."

"Oh." Howard surged forward then, catching James in a hard kiss, that the other man automatically gentled into a low fire rather than an inferno. 

"Come to bed with me?" It came out plaintive, but the words felt good to whisper into Howard's ear. Just for fun, and because he could, James gave it a little kiss. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stove pic for reference:
> 
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/78/41/79/7841790d81336e21a462f3fbbca94739.png


	3. Carter - Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inherent eroticism of trusting a rogue with holding a knife to your bare neck

They don't make it out of bed until the next morning. Carter considers getting out a few times; the stew smells amazing and he's been starving and frankly he deserves a delicious meal after everything. But each time he thinks about it, makes some considering noise or shifts, Barnes battens down even harder onto his side, wrapping around more firmly than some squids Howard has seen. Given Barnes' usual level of taciturn, Howard can't help but settle back down each time, burying a hand in his hair and wrapping around him to keep him protected. It's nothing even close to a guarantee in the uncertain world they live it, but the sentiment is worth the effort. 

However, morning finally comes, dark and gloomy and full of snow. But they are inside, with plenty of firewood in the foyer, and the little cabin is full of delicious scents. Howard eventually manages to detangle himself from Barnes with promises of being back soon, with food for them both.

"Plus, I need to add more wood or the fire will burn out and then we'll be cold again and I did not sign up for that. I mean, I signed up for many things and if you let me go, I can bring you some breakfast in bed. The porridge has raisins? Unless you want stew?" Howard bribes, not even slightly ashamed. Barnes' one visible eye tracks him blearily and he finally nods. 

"Both."

"I'll be back right quick." Howard promises, getting out of bed and hissing at the temperature change. it's not as severe as before but still. The difference is noticeable. He faffs around, gathering bowls, putting more wood into the stove. However, he's up now and the idea of going back to bed when he's this grimy just makes his skin crawl. instead, he tucks both bowls of food by James' head, gives it an affectionate petting, and sets about making hot water happen. There isn't a banya attached to Kolya's place like they do in some of the others, which is just unfortunate and a massive oversight. Howard makes a point of sharing this fact with the world at large, including the sheer stupidity of not having more food stashed away in case of emergency. At least the foyer has two doors and several buckets. Howard wastes no time in filling them with snow and stashing them in the oven to make hot water happen. 

"Hah! Found some knives. They're even decent. I'm sure that Kolya isn't coming back any time soon. Or maybe at all. He won't miss them. And! I found the larder. They have sausages and some apples and a whole block of cheese! No bread though, shame that. Anyways. Found the wash basin. I am shaving and there is basically no force in the world that can stop me. I've had this stupid beard for three days and I won't have this indignity thrust upon me any longer."

James pushes the curtain surrounding their bed back halfway, head still on his pillow as he watches Carter strip down and at least get himself somewhat clean. It takes more buckets than Howard had originally anticipated, which leads to a great deal of cursing. Howard can handle pain but having to run outside to dump dirty water during a Russian winter and wait for more snow to melt is right out. 

"I'd like a shave too." James says, finally sitting up and out of bed. He isn't usually prone to such laziness, but there was nowhere to go and nothing more to do, so it seemed worthwhile to just laze about a bit. Plus, he was keeping the bed warm for them. 

"Yeah. Want a bucket bath too? I'm sure I can find some. You should have another bowl though. It'll take some time for the water to melt again." James nods and sets about trying to pack more snow in to melt. His right arm kept giving him warning twinges but he pushes past it. 

By the time he gets back, Howard has already managed to climb up into the attic. James isn't exactly sure how, given the lack of visible ladder and previous lack of porthole, but that had never really stopped Carter before. He came back with a few books in Russian, another couple buckets, wooden this time, and a teapot. 

“Do we even have tea leaves?” Barnes asks, finally awake enough to deal with reality.

”What do you take me for, a heathen? Don’t answer that.” Howard roots around in his bag, and pulls out the tiny block of compressed tea in its own wax lined tin. One dig without good British tea had instilled in him a habit of keeping at least a little bit on hand. 

“Alright. While that’s coming together - God Lord man. What happened to your arm?” It hadn’t been obvious in the darkened room of last night, or maybe it had just needed time to develop, but Barnes’ entire shoulder blade, reaching up to his neck, was covered in a deep bruise.

Said sailor glances at it, craning his neck and wincing. “Probably happened when I got thrown in that wall.” He mutters and Carter is there, fluttering about.

”Sit down, sit down. You shouldn’t be moving that. What if you lose all range of motion and we have to fight again? I can’t have you like this!” Barnes catches on of Howard’s hands and brings it close, kissing the knuckles.

”We’ll be fine. I’ve fought through worse.”

”That doesn’t mean you should have to!”

Barnes shrugs, carefully only moving his left shoulder and leans down for his own pack. “If you’re so insistent on helping me, shave me?”

Howard’s frantic movements still. He looks between the blade James is holding out and his face several times, gauging if James realizes just what he’s offering. They both know Howard is a thief and a rogue. When they’d first paired up, Howard had made a point of regaling the other man of the times he’s had to slit another person’s neck, all in self defense of course. They both know exactly how dangerous this is.

”Are you sure?” Howard asks, and his voice comes out softer and more uncertain than he wants.

James is steadfast. “Yes.”

”I- yes Alright.” Taking the razor feels oddly ceremonial, and Howard takes a few minutes to put together a proper shave, washing and warming the small towel he found, making sure the razor is as sharp as it needs to be, with no nicks or dents, and making up a rich lather from the soap bar stashed with the kit.

The fragrance of James’ soap fills the space between them, creating a little cocoon of closeness. Something about it makes Howard think of Japan, of cozy nights with Wilde and Zolf, trash talking literature they’d picked up along the way and consumed voraciously.

It’s forming another sense memory now; the sight of James tipping his head back without a care, baring his throat with the self-assurance of complete safety. His quiet breathing and the crackle of the fire. The feel of soft bristles and rich lather under Howard’s fingertips as he works it into week old growth. 

Howard works slowly but methodically. He starts with the cheeks. It’s not the normal way to go about this but he’s saving the best for last. The blade is well tended and sharp, as all things about James are and Howard quickly falls into the motions, humming a little under his breath. It’s soothing and tantalizing; the easy trust between them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Howard worries about what this means with the threat of blue veins. But he quashes that part of himself, making a conscious effort to enjoy the moment and nothing more.

The world can wait. They’ve carved this little slice of peace with blood and tears and rage. The world can wait.

Something about the intimacy of this makes Howard not want to fill the air with chatter. The connection between them is too charged, James’ slitted eyes following his every move with fascination. This doesn’t need words.

Finally, Howard gets to James’ neck. Here, he closes his eyes, as if he doesn’t need to monitor Howard. As if this is completely without danger, and Howard gulps where James doesn’t, running the razor and leaving smooth skin behind. He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to that Adam’s apple, vowing to keep it and the head attached to it safe.


End file.
